Thank You for Giving Me a Chance
by nikisamazing
Summary: Tris works in a club as a stripper and sells her body for a place to sleep. One day, she stumbles across a man...the first man to give her a chance at a real life. Kind of heavy themes - not quite M, but a strong T. 12 plus ONLY, please.


_**I don't own **_**Divergent**_**, but I **_**do**_** own this little one-shot's ideas!**_

**Hey, readers/followers. I've had this nagging idea in my head, so I decided to do a quick one-shot. I have a lot on my plate right now, and I'll be going off to school in a few days, so this probably won't go anywhere, at least for a while. Maybe I'll continue it later. I'll update _MMLM_ and _ADD_ as soon as I can. Thanks for reading, and thanks to ficorrie for editing! All of you Warrior fans (I've never read the books, but she likes them) should go check out her Fic.**

**Enjoy!**

I make my way through the crowd, disgusted that I have to let those slimeballs feel me up as I slip by. _Fuck you, Milton,_ I think.

I chat with some of the customers, getting drinks, letting them touch me, doing a few quick lap dances. _All in a night's work. A night's work that makes me want to jump into a vat of bleach, but a night's work nonetheless._

I continue my rounds until I reach a table in the far corner of the bar. Two men sit at it. One wears an expression of intriguement, satisfaction, but the other wears one of distaste. I sashay up to them, doing my best to keep misery and disgust out of my voice. "Can I get you two anything?"

The one with the look of distaste glances at me, and confusion fills his handsome features - dark, shaggy hair, a hooked nose, a full lower lip, dark eyes, and olive skin. The other one, probably Hispanic in origin, with dark cropped hair, a darker complexion, and also dark eyes, opens his mouth to speak, but the first one cuts him off, saying, "No, thank you. We're good on food."

"Do you require any..._other_ services?" I ask. "My shift ends in ten minutes," I add, biting my lip seductively.

The shaggy-haired one looks over me, confusion still in his voice. "I - we - yes," he decides.

I sigh internally. "I'll be right back over," I inform him, smiling. I punch out and grab my bag. I push my shaggy bangs off of my forehead and throw a hoodie on. I weave back through the crowd and find the two again, though the Hispanic one has disappeared. I sigh and give the shaggy-haired one a smile as he leads me to his truck.

"So what do you do?" I ask.

"I'm a Navy SEAL," he answers. "Or...I was. Part of my left foot got blown off in an op and they honorably discharged me two weeks ago. Zeke, the guy I was with, had his leg blown off to the knee. I was lucky. We came here for a change of pace."

"I'm sorry to hear about your foot," I say softly.

"No, no, it's fine. I'm just glad I served as I could," he explains, pulling into a parking garage. "We're here." He hops out and I follow him, pulling my sweatshirt tighter around me.

He notices and shrugs his coat off, wrapping it around me. Chicago in the dead of winter is _not_ warm.

"What's your name?" I tuck my head down.

He unlocks the door to his apartment. "Petty Officer Third Class Four Eaton at your service." He salutes, smiling.

I walk inside and stand in the entryway of the two-room apartment. I slip my boots off and move towards the kitchen, which is really just a corner of the living room. Further down is a doorway to a bedroom and a bathroom.

Four slips his boots off, and then he takes his sweater off and gently pries my fingers off his coat. He hang it on a hook and walks into his bedroom. I hear him shuffling around, and then he reappears in boxers and a tee shirt, with what appears to be a similar outfit in his hand for me. _Why is he giving me these clothes? Is he just waiting to fuck me? Is this some sort of fetish?_

"Here," Four says. "You can wear these, if you'd like." He hands me the pile of clothes and rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't have much that would fit you, but I figured maybe you could fit in the boxers."

"Why are you giving me them?" I ask.

"To sleep in?" he replies, giving me a strange look.

"But...I'm supposed to sleep _with_ you," I murmur.

He grips my chin. "I can see the look in your eyes. You hate having to sell your body to pay the bills." He shudders. "And I know what it feels like - wanting to wash your body every time with some chemical, to get the dirt off. I'm not going to force you to sleep with me. Heck, I was going to pay you to stay with me until you can get on your feet with a real job."

I meet his eyes for a second. Then, "Stop fooling with me."

"I'm not fooling. I promise. I have no foul intentions, only ones to help you." He sits next to me. "You can sleep on my bed, if you want, and I'll take the couch. Tomorrow, I have an interview with the police station, and an appointment with the doctor at the VA. You could come with me, and then we'll go job-hunting for you."

"Why should I trust you?" I whisper.

He meets my eyes. "Have I done anything to earn your distrust?"

I shake my head slowly.

"Then why shouldn't you?" He smiles and kisses the top of my head. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Tris Prior." I stand and walk to the bathroom, the stack of clothes in hand. I change and set the jeans and scrap of a shirt next to my sweatshirt in my bag.

"Do you have any clothes to wear tomorrow?" Four asks.

I shake my head slowly. "All my clothes are really only appropriate for the club."

"I'll grab you something tomorrow morning," he promises. "Before you get up." Four chuckles and pushes his floppy bangs off his forehead with a careless sweep of his hand. "I guess it's the military in me. I always get up at four thirty, maybe four forty-five."

I give him a small, contained smile. "That's early."

He glances at his watch. "You must be tired. Here, my room's this way." He lets me get into the bed before grabbing an extra pillow off the bed and a blanket from the closet and going back into the other room.

I wrap my arms around myself and slowly drift into a restless sleep, which is about as good as I get, filled with nightmares and night terrors. One brings Four into the room, snapping the light on and racing to the side of the bed.

"Tris? Are you okay?" The panic in his voice almost sounds real.

I take a deep, shuddering breath and scoot away from him. "Yeah. I just...it's...I sometimes have nightmares of some of the...clients." I squeeze my eyes shut and pull the hip of the boxers down to show him my scarred hip. "One liked to cut people. I dream about him a lot. Others liked to hit. The one that took my virginity tore into me. That's one of the worst."

Four pushes a sweat-soaked lock off my face. "I know the feeling, and I have dreams like that. My father used to beat and whip and rape me. It's one of the reasons I went into the army."

I look him up and down. He's not kidding. "Well...I..." I hang my head. "I would say I'm sorry, but I hate that, so I won't. I _will_ say that you turned out remarkably unscathed."

He laughs. "Sure."

I sigh and sit up in the bed, patting the space next to me. "I don't think I'll be able to fall back asleep. It's like six am anyway, right?"

He nods sheepishly. "I was making breakfast when I heard you."

I sigh. "Was I screaming?"

He nods. "Night terror?"

"Yeah." I chew on the inside of my lip. "What'd you make?"

"Pancakes and eggs." He shrugs. "I didn't have much in the way of food."

I stand up. "Sounds…really good."

"Did you even eat last night? Yesterday at all?" he asks, eyeing my thin, nearly malnourished frame.

I look down, embarrassed. "I had an apple."

"C'mon, let's get you fed." He puts a hand, ever so gently, on my elbow. I flinch, but let him lead me to the kitchen. He puts a large plate of eggs, syrup, and pancakes in front of me. I practically devour it, feeling full in the first time in a long time. "That's right," he coaxes. He takes my plate. "You want more?"

I shake my head. "I don't think I could eat anymore right now."

Four puts the dishes into the dishwasher. "I haven't had a chance to go get those clothes yet, but I can go now." He scoops up the remote and turns the tv on. "You can watch whatever until I get back."

I take the remote, my hand brushing his. "Thanks, Four."

He smiles and salutes me. "No problem. I'm going to go change and shower, and then I'll head out."

He goes into his room, grabs some clothes, and then takes his shower. I watch _Chopped_ and become very engrossed - so engrossed I don't noticed him next to me until he taps my shoulder, and then I jump.

He chuckles. "Sorry. I just wanted to tell you I'm heading out."

I look him over. I noticed last night that he was well-muscled, but this Navy SEALS shirt seems to illuminate that - he's more buff, with broad shoulders and big muscles. He wears it with cargo shorts. "Okay."

I hunch into myself when he leans a little closer, turning my head. He chuckles again. "I wasn't going to kiss you. I was going to tell you something." He stands. "I'll be back soon."

I sigh and go back to watching TV, more relaxed than I've been since I can remember.

* * *

All too soon, Four is back, a small bag in his hand. He hands it to me, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had to guess on sizes. I got you extra-small in tee shirts and twos in pants."

I nod. "Thanks."

"And, um, an A for bras." He rubs the back of his neck again.

"Thank you, Four." I stand and point at the bathroom hesitantly. "Can I…shower?"

"Oh, sure. I, um, only have guy stuff, but you can use whatever." He runs a hand through his messy hair. "We don't have to leave here until ten," he says.

I walk to the bathroom, pausing at the doorframe. "Okay."

* * *

After my shower, I brush my hair through with his comb, though it smells kind of like hair gel. I part it simply. I use his deodorant, though it smells like, well, a guy. I pull on the new clothes. He did pretty well in sizes. The shirt hangs off me a bit, but that's more because I'm so skinny. The jeans also fit well, as do the underwear.

When I return to his living room, he smiles. "I was starting to think you'd drowned in there," he teases.

"Thank you for the clothes and the place to stay and the food," I mutter. "I should be going. I have work."

He grabs my wrist loosely. "No, Tris. You can't go back there."

"I have to. I have no job, no -"

"You have me, my place, my food, my money. I'll provide for you until you can get back on your feet, but I won't let you go back there," he says firmly.

"I can't accept your charity."

"Charity? I expect every penny back." He pulls me closer to him. "Tris, I'm giving you the chance I never had - for it to stop. Please, take it."

I sigh and relax. "Thank you, Four." _Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me a chance._


End file.
